Your Wooden Soldier
by densrl
Summary: Dwight gets more than he has bargained for when he not only ties up and steals from Daryl, but also his sister, Jill. Dwight/OC
1. Chapter 1

_[A/N]: Hello dear readers! This is a story I have been posting on Tumblr for my friend rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts, and I decided to post it here as well, as this place could seriously do with some more Dwight loving. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

You and Daryl fall off the motorcycle on to the forest floor, panting. You had just shaken off whatever assholes had been following you, shooting too many bullets your way.

"You okay, brother?" You ask, out of breath.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

The moment's rest is disturbed by the sound of a walker. You both jump up and discover a scorched, walker has been lying beside you this whole time. You frown, as it seems to be (what is left of) a kid with a blackened helmet melted on its head.

Now that you're sitting up anyways, you pull Daryl up too and check yourselves for wounds. You had made quite a nasty fall there, when those dickheads had started shooting at you and the motorcycle had skidded onto its side.

Daryl's arm is bleeding a fair amount and you grazed you knee pretty badly, the blood staining your pants a dark red.

You hear twigs snapping further up. You look at each other, knowing you need to move quietly. Those pricks might still be around here. You hide the motorcycle under a bush. Daryl signals to move forward together, to try and take 'em by surprise.

As you stalk forward, your weapons held tensely in the air, you bump into two women, sitting behind a tree.

They jump up, hands in the air and eyes widened, but she starts talking immediately, like she's been expecting you.

"You found us, okay? Here we are." She pauses a bit.

"We earned what we took," she says with conviction.

You hear a twig snap behind you, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You both turn around as fast as you can, but Daryl gets hit in the face by a blonde, dirty-looking guy holding a big branch.

"No!" You scream, catching your brother from falling to the ground. He's knocked out.

"What the fuck do you want from us, asshole?!" You yell at the guy, anger rushing through you.

"Well, the name is Dwight, sweetheart," he says calmly.

"I look like I care what your fucking name is?" You ask loudly.

He smirks. "Feisty," he says, raising his eyebrows. "What's your name?"

You grasp your knife, trying to slice his leg in one quick movement. You'll show him the Dixon feistiness.

Sadly, he dodges your knife with a quick backstep. Of course the asshole has to be agile.

He ain't even angry about it. He just calmly pulls a gun from his waistband and presses it against your throat.

"Hand over the knife and the gun. Don't try to fool me, I see it sitting there in your waistband," he gestures to the outline of your gun clearly visible through your shirt.

You give a frustrated sigh, throwing your gun and knife on the ground with more force than necessary. He kicks them toward the brunette woman, who puts them away in a duffel bag. Once they're out of sight, he puts his own gun away too.

He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his dirty plait shirt, pushing his blonde hair back behind his ears.

"You know what'd be really great, sweetheart?" He asks you, raising his eyebrows. He drops the big branch to the ground and crouches down to be on eye level with you.

He pulls out a bunch of rope from his backpocket and wastes no time binding your hands together.

He leans into you, saying softly, "You sitting there, quiet and still."

You glare at him, somehow trying to tell him without words what a piece of shit he is.

He moves on to binding Daryl's hands together.

"Really?" You say sarcastically. He ignores you.

Once he's done constricting your unconscious brother as well, he moves back toward his girls.

"What the hell do you want with us?" You yell again. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but you're scared. You've been captured like a freaking rabbit, and you feel like you're awaiting your slaughter.

The woman sighs, rolling her eyes. "We're done kneeling for you people."

"Have you been hit in the head or something? As I'm seein' it, my brother and I are the ones on the ground."

"You wanna be under someone's thumb like this, fine. We don't." Dwight says.

"What are you even talking about?" You ask, your face scrunching up in confusion.

He walks over to you with large steps, pulling his gun again and pressing it against your cheek. He bores his eyes into you.

"Don't play dumb," he pants. You squint your eyes at him.

"I'm not. Looks like you got the wrong people," you say coldly. He sighs through his nose.

He moves away again and sits with his girls again.

You're left to sit here, with your unconscious brother, no food or water. You prod Daryl with your foot every once in a while, to see if he's still unconscious. He is.

* * *

As night falls, they make a campfire to keep warm. Dwight starts carving a piece of the branch he used to hit Daryl earlier. You watch him from across the campfire. He has a pretty nice face, you notice. That bone structure would make you weak in the knees if he weren't a complete asshole.

At some point he stands up and walks over to you, sitting next to you.

"You okay?" He asks, his eyes on the wood he's carving. You look at him, confusion plain on your face.

"Why would you care?" You ask flatly.

"Because we have nothing to gain from you if you die now."

"Give me some water then."

He signals to the brunette woman, and she takes a bottle of water from the duffel. She throws it toward Dwight, and he catches it with one hand, with ease. This guy really is agile as fuck.

"Make sure she doesn't drink too much. We need that."

So you, of course, gulp down as much as you can.

Dwight quickly takes the bottle away from you again, without saying another word. His eyes on the piece of wood again.

"What're you making?" You ask.

He looks at you in surprise, his eyes moving over your face for a few seconds to see if you're joking.

What can you say? You are a curious person.

He shows you the piece of wood. It is an as of yet unfinished sculpture of a man, its head and torso carved out. You are taken aback by the level of detail and the precision with which it is carved.

"That is impressive," you say softly, before adding, "for an asshole."

Instead of growing angry he snorts. "Thank you."

We sit for a moment, staring at the fire.

"My grandfather taught me, he was a professional woodcarver. He used to carve me these ridiculously detailed sculptures for my birthdays," Dwight says, a smile ghosting on his lips. His face looks a lot softer, a lot less angry in the light of the fire than it did earlier. "I'm glad he didn't have to witness any of this."

"Yeah," you say, before adding, "You are being nice to me." It's not a question, it's a gentle statement. You don't want him to stop being nice. He hums in agreement.

"I don't know why, but I like you. You're smart and you're tough," he looks up from his sculpture.

"You like me enough to undo these?" You say, holding up your bound wrists.

Dwight snorts. "You know I can't do that," he says, though doubt is clear in his features.

"You know we're not the people you're lookin' for," you say gently.

"You're our one chance at running away," he says with certainty this time. You think you see fear in his eyes, but you can't be sure.

"Run from what?" You press. But he just sighs. It seems that the moment of open-heartedness is over. And now you're starting to feel sorry. Great.

"Jill."

"What?"

"My name. It's Jill." He looks at you for a few moments, his eyes and smile soft. He nods, and continues focusing on the wooden sculpture again.

You just watch as he expertly carves the wood in the flickering light of the fire. Something about it is really relaxing to you, and it lulls you right to sleep. Just before the night envelopes you, your eyes meet Dwight's and he gives you a lazy smile.

* * *

Next morning, you are woken up with a gun in your face. "Move," says the brunette woman expressionlessly. You notice Daryl is being woken in a similar manner by Dwight. You let out a relieved sigh that your brother is in the land of the living again.

Dwight's threatening my brother to kill him if he speaks again.

Daryl, being Daryl, opens his mouth and says "We ain't who you think." Your brother and you are too much alike in that department.

Dwight cocks the hammer of the gun, saying, "Say something else. Go ahead." His eyes hold no kindness this time.

"Don't," you say, your voice breaking. "Please."

Dwight regards you for a moment, before looking you both over and saying, "Let's go."

The woman walks behind you and Dwight walks behind Daryl. They make you drink, but you refuse and give the bottle to Daryl. He needs it more. He gratefully gulps it down.

While walking to wherever, you keep noticing these creepy burned walkers. They explain that they did that. That it was their way of fighting back. That they thought everyone did.

"We were being stupid," Dwight says.

"Y'all don't think you're being stupid right now?" Daryl says. You can't help but snort about how right he is.

Dwight seems to fly off the handle, quickly pulling the gun out of his pants and taking angry, large strides toward Daryl. He almost presses the gun against Daryl's nose.

"Are you saying I should kill you?"

You step in between the gun and Daryl. You get the idea he is more patient with you than with Daryl.

"No he ain't. He's saying you're stupid 'cause you got the. Wrong. People," you say, emphasizing the last part. Dwight eyes you coldly.

"You think I won't pull this trigger on you?"

He fires the gun at your feet. You exclaim a bunch of expletives. The bullet hit the ground right next to your foot. Either he is an amazing shot, or stupidly lucky.

Daryl growls, a threat undisguised in his voice, "You try shootin' at my sister again, ya prick."

He steps in front of you.

Dwight continues, "You made the choice to kill for someone else, to have them own you for a roof over your head and three squares, so maybe I'm not considering all aspects here. So you tell me: Am I being stupid?" He asks earnestly.

"No," Daryl answers, his voice low and gravelly. "Look, we got somewhere to be. We can make a deal, help you out," he says confidently. You have always envied his ability to keep calm and confident in situations like these.

Dwight's eyes shift between you both. "You're with them," he says again.

"Are you gonna tell us who 'they' are, yet? If you're gonna keep accusing us, it'd be pretty fucking handy to know with what," you say. This guy makes your head throb. The calm Dixon tried, now let the hot-tempered Dixon do her part.

He looks at you coldly, before proclaiming that you should move. They switch around, with Dwight walking behind you now and the woman walking behind Daryl.

"Well you changed your tune since last night," you say casually.

"Don't talk."

You sigh heavily through your nose and just walk on.

At some point you arrive at a clearing, small gates around what looks like a gas station. The three of them walk toward the gates and you look at Daryl. You don't care what they're saying in those desperate, panicked voice. They're distracted: You both know this might be your chance.

Then, by some miraculous turn of events, the girl faints. You movements well-coordinated, Daryl grabs the duffel and you both run into the treeline, keeping low and avoiding Dwight's bullets.

* * *

You rid each other of the ropes around your wrists and catch your breath from the sprint. As a moss-grown walker approaches, you rummage hurriedly through the duffel and throw Daryl his crossbow, before arming yourself again with your own gun and knife. Your hand still as you see what was lying under your gun.

"Shit, shit, shit!" You exclaim. "Daryl!" You call out, as the walker thuds to the ground, an arrow protruding from its head. You show him the insulin.

"We can't do this," you breathe.

"No. C'mon, we're takin' it back."

* * *

As you approach, you yell, "Drop the gun, asshole!"

Of course, that made him pull his gun. You shoot at his feet.

"Payback's a bitch, ain't it Dwight?"

He can't seem to help the slight smirk that appears on his lips. But it's gone as soon as it appeared.

He gives Daryl his gun.

"We came all this way. What ya got for the duffel?" Daryl asks.

"You can give me the sculpture, Dwight," you propose.

Daryl looks at you with confusion, but says, "That'll do. You ain't getting this back for nothing. Principle of the thing."

Dwight hands you the wooden sculpture, except this time it's finished. It's a little soldier.

Daryl throws them the duffel. "Take it. It's all there."

The woman grasps the duffel hurriedly and pulls it toward her.

Then a giant truck suddenly comes driving in with a bunch of people. After some yelling back and forth, that neither you nor Daryl partake in, it is painfully obvious that these are the people that they are running from.

These people were sent here to play fetch.

Needless to say, all of you run like hell, Daryl supporting the apparently diabetic girl.

* * *

All of you hide behind a bush and some trees. "Hey," Daryl says to Dwight, offering him his gun, "take it."

Dwight does so, wide-eyed and surprised.

One of 'em pricks comes your way. You tighten you grip on your gun until your knuckles turn white. Once you shoot him, the rest will come running too. You need to be prepared.

Daryl, calm and collected as always, tricks him into walking right into a hidden walker. The guy panics and calls for the leader, who takes his arm off right in front of you. The bloodcurdling screams of this world are something you will never get used to.

The leader seems to care about the watch more than about the poor bastard's arm.

You inwardly cheer for this outcome, because this means they will have to scurry back to whatever hole they came from to care for the amputee.

You wait until they're well gone before letting out a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from your brows. The woman quickly injects the girl with insulin.

Dwight turns to you and Daryl, surprise etched on his face.

"We thought you were with them." He lets out a sigh of disbelief. You cross your arms.

"Listen, blondie, we told you time and time again," you sigh. "Not our fault you ain't the sharpest tool in the shed," you say with a teasing wink. Dwight chuckles.

He continues, "We knocked you over the head," he nods at Daryl, "tied you up, threatened to kill you. Why the hell did you come back?"

"Maybe we're all stupid," Daryl remarks.

"Speak for yourself, brother. I just wanted that little wooden soldier," you say, smirking.

"Shut up, Jill," Daryl laughs, shoving your arm.

We even get a chuckle from Dwight and the woman.

"You finished it," you remark softly to Dwight, rolling the wooden soldier between your fingers.

"I finished it last night while you were asleep."

"Didn't you have to sleep?"

"No. Not while we're still running."

You walk in silence for a while.

"It's kind of fitting that I gave you the soldier."

You chuckle. "Why?"

"Because you are a fighter. You came back for us. You're tough and you're determined, and you and your brother saved us."

You don't know what to say.

A smile plays on his lips for leaving you speechless. You give him a genuine, warm smile.

Suddenly the girl runs off. Dwight yells, "Hey, Tina, hold up!" He runs after her.

You and Daryl exchange a look. Carl used to run off so often that you and Daryl are exasperated of this type of shit.

You stand in front of what once must have been a greenhouse. Two bodies lay on the ground, veiled in melted glass, outlining their bodies. There is a sad kind of beauty about it, the shiny cocoons glittering in the sunlight.

It turns out they used to know these people.

Dwight takes in the scene with horror, feeling responsible, no doubt. It is clear that this was caused by the fire.

"I did this," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion.

"No," the woman says. "We did this."

Well, at least she doesn't let him take the fall.

The girl goes to them, grasping onto some flowers that had survived the fire. She tiptoes between the corpses, you presume to lay the flowers in between their faces. A beautiful gesture, though you don't trust it one bit. She needs to be careful.

"You sure that's a good idea?" You ask hesitantly.

The girls both at you angrily for disturbing the otherwise serene ceremony they are trying to have.

"Sorry." You honestly didn't mean to disturb their moment.

Then, as you had expected, the walkers start gurgling. The girl starts and falls over, breaking the glass. She screams as they sink their teeth into her.

Daryl and you act fast, rushing over and burying your knives into the walkers' skulls.

The woman starts crying to the girl how sorry she is, and how they 'had to try'. Dwight stands there, his eyes fixated on the dying girl. He looks frozen in his spot.

You and Daryl exchange looks, Daryl nodding to the treeline. You both know it; you gotta give them a moment.

As you start to walk away, you don't know what comes over you, but you grab Dwight's hand and give it a squeeze, trying to express your sympathy for him. For them.

Without lifting his eyes, he whispers, "Thanks, Jill." You release his hand and walk away.

* * *

You sit next to the woman, whose name turns out to be Sherry, as Dwight and Daryl dig the graves.

You offer her your hand as a form of condolence, but she just stares at it, and then stares at you. Her moist eyes are dead.

"You knew," she says to you, her voice breaking. "You knew this would happen. You warned us but you didn't stop her."

"Sher, come on. It's not her fault," Dwight says. Everything about him seems drained of energy.

"I can't believe you're defending her, Dwight."

She looks away angrily, turning her back on you.

You sigh deeply. You can't blame her for being angry. Hell, she's mourning.

You'd be too damn proud to admit it, but you do feel sorry that you didn't follow your instinct.

You walk away and sit down over at the treeline. You don't blame her, but you don't want to sit it out either.

You overhear Daryl telling them about we're were from, a place where people are the same as before, more or less, better or worse. An unspoken invitation to come along.

You know your brother. You know he feels the same way about them as you. They are like you; tough survivors who try to hold on to that last bit of empathy.

You help carrying the three girls into the graves, and you search the surroundings for flowers to put on the graves.

You start walking toward the motorcycle again, talking about meeting back up with Sasha and Abe, and how Dwight and Sherry can ride in the car with them. As Daryl recovers the motorcycle from under the leaves, you hear a gun being tossed and caught behind you, and suddenly your arms are pinned behind your back before you can grab your gun. You know it's Dwight, rough hands with long fingers prying your gun and knife away from you, throwing them in the duffel.

You hear Daryl growl, "Oh, damn it," dropping the motorcycle and trying to grab his crossbow, but he is too late. Sherry points the gun at him.

Anger rushes through you, and you try to kick Dwight in the nuts. Fucker deserves that for playing you like this.

"Keep. Still," Dwight says, annoyed. He is surprisingly strong for a guy with such a thin physique.

He smells like firewood, you suddenly notice as his chest is pressed against your back. But this is not the time to get distracted by someone's scent, damn it!

Then he says, "I'm sorry. Give her the crossbow," he nods to Sherry.

"You gonna go back? You gonna be safe?" Daryl asks, distaste in his voice.

"Shut up!" You feel Dwight's chest tense as he yells at Daryl.

"I thought you were done kneeling. That you were runnin'," You say, turning your head to look at Dwight from the corner of your eye.

Sherry fires a bullet next to Daryl's head.

"What the fuck was the point of all this?" You ask, genuinely not understanding. The one time you and Daryl decide to trust people outside of your close circle, you get stabbed in the back.

"Dwight, please shut her up!" Sherry says. Dwight twists your arms painfully behind your back, you yelp. You hold your tongue, despite the betrayal burning through your veins.

"Give her the crossbow," Dwight tells Daryl again. He does. Like he has any other choice.

Dwight loosens the painful grip on your arms, but keeps holding you in place. He leans in toward your ear, and whispers, "I'm sorry, Jill. And thank you," before pressing his lips softly on your temple.

Then he grabs the motorcycle, and while Sherry keeps her gun trained on Daryl. She rummages through the duffel, grabbing a handful of bandages and throwing them at us.

"Patch yourselves up."

Then she says earnestly, "We're sorry."

You and Daryl say at the same time, "You gonna be."


	2. Chapter 2

_[A/N] Hello dear readers, thank you for checking out the second part. Warning: smut. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

You roll the wooden soldier between your finger and your thumb, looking out onto the woods just outside of Alexandria. You know every ridge, every crease by now, its familiarity comforting you. You can't even consciously remember taking it out of its trusted place in your pocket. You remember more times putting it back than taking it out.

You feel so ridiculous. You are staring at the tree line, expecting the rustling leaves to reveal him, approaching the gates of Alexandria with his arms raised in surrender. Every breeze blowing through the leaves grabs your attention, but he never appears.

You sigh, grabbing the wooden soldier into your palm. You know you need to do something about this. You need assurance that he is alright. Your campfire heart-to-heart and events of that day must have hit you harder than you had initially thought. In quiet moments, you often find yourself thinking back to that day with frustration, but also with intrigue.

Most importantly: You are worried about him. He went back to a place where they were obviously in danger.

You pocket the soldier and take your leave from the watch tower. Your guard duty was almost over anyways. It's not like another one of those huge hordes will sweep through again anytime soon.

You hadn't been there. You, Daryl, Abe and Sasha had been busy getting threatened by a bunch of wannabe bikers, wanting to take your shit for 'Negan'. They pronounced the name like you should have been really scared of him, like you should have known him. The guy better be the cure to the apocalypse for all this intimidation.

But you heard later on that everyone had stepped up to protect Alexandria. Even father Gabriel, which had surprised you and your brother. You had thought the guy was a hypocrite prick who needed to take responsibility in this new world. And he finally did.

You know what you need to do. You are going to where it all began.

Try and get some closure. Or perpetuate the illusion that you are going to see him again. Or both.

* * *

You had gotten a car from Rick by feeding him some bullshit about needing specific feminine products and having seen an old pharmacy en route to the 20, when you were leading the horde away from Alexandria. You felt a bit guilty lying to Rick, seeing as you, him, Daryl and Carol were such a close-knit circle. You were the ones who discussed the hard problems nobody wanted to think about, in the darkness of the silent nights.  
You felt even guiltier for lying to your brother. You could notice he found it a bit odd when you said you had to go on a run for "vaginal shit neither of us wants to talk about, brother." But he had just nodded, grumbling a "whatever, Jill."

Now that you are driving here, you feel more okay with the lies. You still feel bad, but you need to do this. You have to get some type of closure, or keep going insane with worry. Those are your options.

You park your car some distance from the place where you met, to avoid getting shot at by the guys from that outpost again. That was not fucking fun. Your knee still hurts from that assault.

But you'd rather walk than get attacked again. Sore legs, a throbbing knee and aching feet are still better than bullet holes.

At this point, you wonder why you even go through all this trouble to see a guy who captured you, tied you up and intimidated you. But you have seen a vulnerability in him that you can't unsee. It's almost like he captured that vulnerability in that damn wooden soldier he gave you, and that's why it clings to you like a disease.

What will you even do when you actually run into him?

You run a cold hand over your face.

You have no idea. You will just have to wait and see. At least the Dixon hands-on approach feels better than to spend your time wishing and waiting.

You walk for an hour, carefully crossing the road where you and Daryl had gone into the woods to shake off your assailants. Looking around feverishly, paranoia creeping into you.  
You don't want to be found dead in this ditch. You really start to wonder why you would even put yourself in this kind of danger for a guy you barely know.

But as soon as you see the charred corpses, you know you've made the right choice. Which is really weird, to feel comfort at charred corpses. Get your shit together, Jill.

You walk toward where you think the graves are. You think that is your best option, or at least your best starting place.

Except everything fucking looks alike. After half an hour of walking through this part of the woods, you are pretty sure you have passed the same scorched walker without legs and the particularly throaty gurgle at least three times. But you and your stubborn Dixon spirit... You would never admit to yourself that you are lost.

After the fifth time of passing Burned Billy (you named him to distinguish him from the other countless burned bodies), you finally don't run into him anymore and the trees you pass seem to be have a different burn pattern than the trees you had been passing. So that's a good sign, right...?

As you approach what seems to be a small clearing, your footsteps sounding softly in the dry, crispy leaves, you suddenly hear a heavier footfall behind you. But before you have the time to turn around, a hand is on your mouth to silence your screams and an arm around your waist, pulling you backwards.

You thrash about, violently trying to wriggle yourself from this persons grip, your loud screams muffled by a hand pressed tightly onto your mouth. Painful tears form in your eyes for not being able to breathe. Instead of screaming, you have to focus on getting air in your lungs through your nose.

You are pushed down into an overgrown bush, still fully covered in dry, gray-looking leaves. You dig your nails into the earth, trying to scramble the fuck away from your attacker, every nerve in your body burning to get you away.

"Get away from me, you assh-"

Rough hands with thin fingers press down on your shoulders as they look you in the eye.

Dwight.

"Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this is?" He says pressingly, raising his eyebrows at you.

The breath hitches in your throat. You found him.

"What the hell, blondie?!"

Then you notice something so earth-shatteringly sad, you think you can actually feel your heart break.

"What... what happened?" you whisper, and before you can stop yourself, you touch his burned cheek ever so softly with your fingertips.

He doesn't flinch away, he just looks at you timidly. His eyes shining with something you can't quite place. Suddenly flustered with your own boldness to touch his cheek like that, you quickly move away, clearing your throat.

"Negan taught me a lesson for trying to leave."

Your heart grows heavy, your eyes glistening with sadness.

"I'm sorry," you say, your voice small. What else is there to say? He is mutilated.

You've heard the name Negan before, from those rude bikers. So that was who they were so scared of last time. With good reason, obviously...

Maybe those bikers were right. Maybe we should have known his name.

You ask, "Did he do the same to Sherry?" Last time around, you didn't get the idea she liked you much. Still, you wouldn't wish this on her.

Dwight shakes his head. "She," he sighs, pushing his dirty blond hair behind his ears, "she left me."

You didn't even get the vibe they were together last time. Or at least not _that_ together.

"Why?" You ask, your forehead creasing into a frown. You don't know whether you are frowning because she left him or because they were together in the first place.

"Because she couldn't forgive me. Not for Tina's death. No-," he stops himself, releasing his breath. He looks anywhere but at you.

"What is it, Dwight?" You ask tentatively.

"She blamed you. I didn't. She couldn't forgive me for standing up for you," he says softly, finally looking at you, his lips pressed into a thin line.

You don't know what to say. You keep opening and closing your mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Where is your brother?" He finally asks you.

"He doesn't know I'm here."

"Why are you even here? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He asks with disbelief. He continues, "If you had walked into that clearing, you would have been shot twenty times over. It's crawling with Negan's people here right now."

"You are Negan's people and I'm not dead yet."

"Yeah, because I don't want you dead. But all these fuckers do. And they'll probably take something from you," he says, adding under his breath, "in any way, shape or form."

You stomach turns.

"Are all Negan's people like this? Is that why you wanted to escape?"

"No. We're here to gather some stuff from the outpost. He keeps the real deranged cases at the outposts, doesn't want them in the main compound where the women and children are."

"So people at the main compound are mostly normal?"

"Mostly." He adds, "They are not the problem. Negan's rules are."

"Why the hell did you go back?" You say bemusedly.

"Without Tina, we had no reason to run anymore."

"But without Sherry, do you still have a reason to stay?"

He sits in front of you with an unreadable expression on his face, his eyes flickering between a dry leaf and your face.

His expression grows soft and meaningful as his eyes start flickering over your face.

Suddenly he clears his throat. "You- you want a peach?"

Your face scrunches up in confusion before you hum. "Sure."

He takes out some canned peaches, opening and draining them of the juice, shaking the can a bit. He takes a peach between his fingers, being careful for it not to slip. But instead of handing you the slice of peach, his hand stills in front of your face. You look at him with surprise, but his face holds no humor, only thoughtfulness.

You close the distance between your mouth and the peach, biting into it, letting its sweetness envelop your mouth.

A trail of juice trickles down your chin. You hand moves toward it to wipe it away, but he quickly takes your hand and stills it. You swallow hard, the peach moving down your throat uncomfortably slowly.

He slowly moves his face toward yours, his lips touching your chin. Small and soft kisses clean up the peach juice in a steady trail upward.

His lips hover over your mouth. As you hold his gaze, you see his uncertainty steadily dissipating.

His lips crash onto yours, heavy with need.

You move your lips with his, slowly and unsurely at first, then with that same need. You moan into the kiss, moving your hands through his hair, which is surprisingly soft. It creates a stark contrast against the rough, burned skin on the left side of his scalp.

The smell of firewood envelops your senses, though a smoky fire is nowhere near.

His hands come down on your waist, kneading your hips hard with rough hands. They secretly slip under your shirt as you tangle your hands into his hair, pulling him as closer. You shiver as he draws little circles on the bare skin of your back.

But the nagging in the back of your mind makes you break the kiss, him trailing soft, biting kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

It's like you're dreaming and your brain is too hazy to focus. But you manage to whisper, "What about Sherry?" Your treacherous voice laced with pleasure.

"She's out of the picture," he murmurs against your neck. He scoffs, warm breath hitting your neck. "Especially now that I'm a burned freak."

Trailing his nose up your neck again until he is eye-to-eye with you again, he whispers, "I've wanted you since the moment I laid my eyes on you, Jill," his eyes shining with sincerity.

Your eyes flicker between his, before exhaling with relief and crashing your lips onto his again. Between kisses, you murmur, "This doesn't matter," stroking his burned cheek. "You're still a damn ten."

He carefully lays you with your back on the ground, lying on top of you. Both your clothes are discarded in record time, your trembling hands tangling with his in a rush to get out of those damn clothes.

His eyes linger over your body, taking in the curvatures of your body, the multiple pictures of ink adorning your skin. You blush under his his scrutiny.

"You are so beautiful," he sighs in awe, before kissing you intensely again. You fondly notice that he tastes of smoked marshmallows.

His kisses trail down your neck to your breasts, where he takes your rosy, aroused nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first, his mustache tickling your sensitive skin. As you moan your approval, his teeth softly come into play, your hands massaging little circles on his scalp. He takes the other protruding nipple between his fingertips, squeezing it gently. You gasp into the cold autumn air, though you are far from cold.

He kisses you deeply again, his other hand trailing tauntingly along your bellybutton to your wet folds. You feel lightheaded as he wastes no time massaging your clit. Your core is burning with arousal, begging for release, and the sounds that come out of your mouth only confirm it.

Your hand wanders down to his hard length, stroking him. He groans against your lips.

You plead softly, "I need you now."

He positions himself in front of your entrance before slowly burying himself in you. Your breath hitches as he fills you.

As you wrap your legs around his waist, he moans your name.

He thrusts into you slow and deep. You whimper his name, raking your fingernails across his back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he fastens his pace.

"Oh god, don't stop," you breathe shakily as he finds the perfect rhythm.

The fire in your lower belly burns brighter and brighter until you find your sweet release, arching your back. Flame after flame burns behind your eyelids.  
You feel Dwight pulse inside of you, while groaning, "Oh, Jill," finding his own release.

His forehead and chest show a sheen of sweat. Your heavy breathing cuts the silence as your light eyes meet his dark ones.

He kisses you tenderly, your hands caressing his cheeks. Your fingertips find the ridged skin of his cheek again. You breathe, "See? Still a ten."

He gives you a lopsided smile, running his thumb over your lips.

You feel so at ease in his arms, you wish you could stay on this cold forest ground forever. Your fingers absentmindedly tickle across his thin chest.

He offers you a smoke, and you gladly take it. You both take deep breaths, blowing the smoke into the sky. Eating the peaches that had lain forgotten next to you on the ground.

Enjoying the quiet peace.

* * *

You dust the dirt off of your bodies and get into your clothes again. You giggle as Dwight picks a gray, brittle leaf out of your hair.

"I will distract the group with some bullshit story so you can run." You nod sadly, as you don't know if you will see him again, or in what circumstances.

You move toward him to press a gentle, lingering kiss on his lips. He takes your hand in his, pressing something into your palm before breaking away, winking at you with a half-smile and exiting the bush.

Standing alone in the bush, you open your hand, revealing another wooden sculpture. This time a heart, sanded until the surface was smooth. Turning it in your hand, tears spring to your eyes. 'Jill' is carved in the middle. You trace your thumb across the letters he engraved into it, smiling slightly.

He had been carrying this with him.

He had been looking for you, too.


	3. Chapter 3

_[A/N] Hello dear readers! Thank you for checking out chapter 3. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

You stare and stare, your eyes wide and your mouth dry from being open from shock for too long. You take in a raggedy breath, trying to wrap your head around it. It makes sense, now that you think about it. You'd forgotten. Simply forgotten in the moment.

And what a moment it had been.

But staring at the little plus sign won't make it go away. If only it were that easy. You close your eyes tightly and rub them, the plus sign burned on your retina from staring at it uninterruptedly. It floats in your black vision, like a taunt. Like a promise.

You are snapped out of your reverie by a fierce banging on the door. You start, quickly throwing the pregnancy test in the trash. You have been seated on the bathroom floor for way too long.

"Jill, ya gon' tell me what's up already?!" You brother yells through the door. You sigh sharply, knowing that he won't stop. He has been suspicious ever since your 'feminine supplies run'.

Of course, it didn't help that you needed another actual feminine supplies run shortly after. Your period running one week late can happen. Two weeks you couldn't dismiss as 'normal' anymore.

Nothing about any of this is normal. You weren't supposed to fuck the enemy, much less think about him all the time.

Maybe love him.

Now what in god's name were you supposed to tell your brother? He wouldn't forgive you.

So much had happened since your run-in with Dwight. First of all, that Saviors group had turned out to be bigger assholes than you had thought. Even worse, they made you a worse bunch of assholes than you had thought you could ever be.

About a week ago, you had gone to the Saviors' complex, using intel from the Hilltop. You had killed a bunch of people in their sleep. You pretend that it didn't affect you. So does Daryl. But you both know it keeps you up at night, from all the times you've wandered into the living room or onto the porch at 3 A.M., only to have Daryl wander in shortly after. Words need not be wasted to _know_.

At first it felt logical. Like 'the right thing'. But now, the fact of the matter is you killed a bunch of people you didn't even know, when they were most vulnerable.

"If you don't open this door now, I'mma kick it in!"

You shake off your thoughts and pick yourself up from the bathroom floor, dusting yourself off. If you can kill a bunch of people in their sleep, you can face your brother about this.

You open the door, and the view is almost comical: Daryl's face is reddened and his fist is raised in the air to bang on the door, where it has paused mid-movement. Immediately, he composes himself and squints at you.

"What the fuck, Jill?!"

"Calm the hell down. I'll explain in a bit," you say exasperatedly.

You walk over to the porch, taking a seat in the chairs you both dragged onto the porch one sleepless night.

You decide to just say it. No need to wind around it.

"I'm pregnant." Saying the actual words now, they feel foreign on your tongue. They taste of bitter.

Whatever Daryl had been expecting, his face betrays his shock. His brows furrow together and his squinted eyes dart over your face.

"No." He simply says.

You snort bitterly. "I wish."

"Whose?" His eyes flicker between the porch and the road, clearly too uncomfortable to look at you, the corners of his mouth slightly downturned.

You let out a deep sigh, before swallowing hard, looking at your brother. "Dwight."

"What?" He says, his voice raising with incredulity. "Tell me ya ain't that stupid."

"You already knew I'm stupid, brother," you joke weakly.

"Fuckin' no," he ain't having it. "How could you with _him_?! He stole from us!" He starts proper yelling now.

"I don't know alright! It's a fucking mess," you say, your voice giving an unwanted tremble. You don't want Daryl to be angry at you.

"'Feminine supplies run?'" He says sarcastically, shaking his head.

"Yeah," you say, feeling small, like a child getting scorned by their parents. Except your parents weren't ever there in any real shape or form to raise you. You and Daryl had to do that on your own, as your shitdick of an eldest brother spent more time in juvie than in the real world.

You knew that he'd known. He'd known you were bullshitting him.

He growls, grumbling, "I don't wanna talk 'bout this." He stands up and walks off in a random direction.

"Where are you even going?" You yell hastily.

"Away."

You sigh, burying your head in your hands. That went as well as could be expected with Daryl 'I don't like to talk about things' Dixon.

The next day, Eugene is carried into Alexandria by Daryl, Abraham and Rosita. He is carried into the infirmary, supposedly to be taken care of by Denise. You haven't seen her enter, but she'll probably have rushed ahead to the infirmary to take care of him.

You decide not to go there. The worst thing that could happen in an infirmary is people crowding it and getting in the way. You walk out of the house you and Daryl live in and decide to stand outside of the infirmary until someone informs you of what happened.

After a few minutes, Daryl rushes out of the infirmary, furiously.

He waves an angry finger at you. Something he never does.

"Your fuckin' guy killed Denise. He shot her with _my_ crossbow."

"Dwight?" You say apprehensively, a nauseous pit forming in your stomach.

"He got my crossbow, don't he? They wanted us to get them here." He gestures his arm roughly around Alexandria.

"He just been _using_ you to get here," he scoffs, shaking his head.

Bile rises in your throat. You don't know what to believe anymore. He killed Denise. He said he didn't kill people. Why the fuck would he lie?

"What you even gonna do with the kid," he hisses. It's not even a question, it's a frustrated statement. "Ya ain't Glenn and Maggie. Ya ain't ever gonna be."

That stung. That fucking stung like a human-sized bee.

You frown, the corners of your mouth turning down. "Don't."

"Christ, Jill, couldn't you find someone in Alexandria to bang?"

"If you wanna call me a whore, go right a-fucking-head," you hiss back, glowering at your brother.

He squints at you, regarding you a few moments before his expression softens. "Nah, ya know I'd never. You're no whore, Jill."

You let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, but he hears it.

Guilt radiates from his frowning face before he puts his arm around you, pulling you against him. He rubs his hand over your back for a bit. Even Daryl sometimes offers little bits of brotherly comfort, though they are far and few in between.

"I'm with ya, sis."

You rest your head on your brother's shoulder for a moment, sighing at the tears rolling down your cheeks. You gruffly wipe them off with your shirt sleeve.

"I know we ain't Glenn and Maggie," you eventually sob. "For all I know, the guy never wants see me again."

The shit that he did to Denise has you doubting. You thought he was a good guy. You thought _he_ didn't kill people. Was this really the same Dwight as the one that you had met in the woods?

Then Daryl grunts, "Then ya just do what is best for _you_."

You give him a tearful smile. Your heart pleasantly aches to know your brother holds such wisdom.

He has come a long way from the abused, neglected child he was. That we were.

But he always took the brunt of it. Sometimes he did that for you.

A pit forms in your stomach every time you think about it.

You owe your brother so, so much. And you do so little to remind him. "I love you, brother. You know that right?"

"Yeah I know that. The hell, Jill?" He grumbles, obviously not knowing what to do with himself.

You look at him expectantly.

"'kay, love ya too. Happy now?"

"Very," you state with a wide smile, hugging him tightly for a bit. Not too long.

You don't want to wear out your brother's physical tolerance for the next month.

Before too soon, you had gotten the news Daryl had left without saying a word of it to you. You wondered why you even tried talking to the stubborn little prick sometimes, but you were glad you had talked your fight out.

He went after Dwight for Denise. Though you knew that wasn't the only reason he went after him.

Rosita, Glenn and Michonne also went with him.

Not soon after that, Maggie got sick, and you had been driving about all day, almost all of you, being driven to one spot like cattle. Being driven to Negan.

Now, sitting here, your knees forced into the gravel, all you can do is make nervous eye contact with Carl. You're sitting in between him and Eugene, which is like sitting in between day and night. Carl, as young as he is, shows no fear, whereas Eugene is shaking, though not from the cold.

You would like to think you are more like Carl, but for all you know you are trembling just as much as Eugene. You certainly ain't judging him.

The thing you are most scared of, is not seeing your brother anywhere around. They left all these clues earlier today that they had caught Daryl, Glenn, Rosita and Michonne. On _walkers_ because they are a bunch of sick fucks.

You had been apprehensive when Dwight had told you about this group that he belongs to, but you wouldn't have guessed they were this sick.

Now you are wishing you had done a little more mental preparation.

Then Dwight walks from out of the massive group of people and he purposefully doesn't make eye contact with you.

Like you are no one.

Doubt settles down on you for real this time. Was it all a lie then?

He opens the back door of a van. The first he pulls out is Daryl.

You scream when you see the blood on his chest, his sickly, pale skin and the bags under his eyes. You cry and try to stand up, only to be forced on your knees again by a random Savior. Your knee hurts from the forceful pressure against the gravel, and you wince.

"What did you do to him?!" You scream at Dwight, trying to stand up again, though your knee gives in from the old pain bubbling back up with newfound force. You fall back into the gravel, feeling the skin of your knee and leg open due to the impact with the sharp rocks.

Dwight tries to look stoic, to look like he doesn't care.

But you see the sympathetic light in his eyes.

But it's not enough.

You try to stand up again through the pain, and walk small steps toward him, your limp painfully evident.

That same Savior is tugging at your shoulders again to get back in line, but Dwight signs for him to back off and let me.

Higher in rank, then.

You know he's done something to Daryl. Daryl went to look for _him_ , after all.

You can't help but feel guilty. You know he was out for revenge, not only for you, but also for Denise.

But you knew how Daryl could get when family was involved. 'Protective anger' would be the best way to describe it.

You were always much alike in that sense.

Right now, you feel like you can spit fire and hurl acid at Dwight.

You reach into the pocket of your jacket and clutch the long plastic that you had fished out of the trash, before shoving it hard against his chest.

Dwight's eyebrows furrow with confusion as he grabs the item out of your tight fist, making sure to be discreet. After all, there are more than fifty people watching.

His eyes darting between the two pink lines of that dreaded pregnancy test, you let out a shaky sigh. This situation is so messed up, it's more fitting as the plot of a horrible soap opera rather than your actual life in the zombie apocalypse.

His gaze falls to the gravelly ground, where it stays a while.

You nervously await his reaction.

Then he turns you around roughly, squeezing your arm in a tight grip that you are sure will leave finger-shaped bruises. He says under his breath, "I shot your brother in the shoulder to protect him from Negan." Even softer he breathes, "He _can't_ know that I care about you." Almost desperate.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart for momentarily believing that _whatever_ you had, was a lie.

You know why he is being so rough and careless with you. He has to make this look realistic to the fifty plus people and the big boss.

His long, dirty blonde hair tickling the back of your neck and his musky firewood smell calm you down, more than you had expected them to.

Honesty laced in his voice, he hums softly, "We'll figure this out. Together."

Though the tight grip on your arm doesn't loosen, his thumb traces soothing little circles on your arm that no one can see.

Even through your jacket, you feel the rhythmic trace, leaving you taking deeper breaths. His words combined with his touch has you feeling like he is speaking the truth. Like there is _hope_ in this whole miserable situation.

He grabs the lapel of your jacket to shove you back in line, which he does with such finesse that you wonder if he went to acting school, way before. He calculatedly makes it look rough without hurting your knee any further.

Behind you, you hear a Savior grunting towards Dwight, "You know her?"

To which Dwight responds in a neutral voice, "Ran into her at the beginning. Negan can have her, for all I care." You shudder at how convincing the words leave his mouth.

You look at your dear brother, the breath catching in your throat as you really _look_ at him.

He's doing bad. Running a fever, least of all. They didn't even properly stop the bleeding.

Tears spring to your eyes at the sight. If there's one word you would have never thought to describe your brother with, it would be 'fragile'.

You have to suppress crawling towards him to hug him, to hold your brother.

But sadly, you already took your one chance. If you take another, they will probably shoot you before this whole fucking shitshow even begins.

You didn't choose Dwight over your brother, you tell yourself. And you honestly believe it's true. Even though you do care about Dwight, you also just showed him your one wildcard, the one thing that might possibly grant you and your brother mercy.

Though, by the looks of it, Daryl was pitiable enough as is.

At some point, a guy with a large moustache yells, "Alright, we got a full boat! Let's meet the man!" Before he opens the door of the RV that is parked in front of you.

Out walks the one and only Negan. As soon as he says with grand self-confidence, "Pissin' our pants yet?", you know what Dwight was fearing all this time. What your group should have spent more time fearing.

He has an… air about him. An air of dominance, of command. Yet the way he talks is so fucking opposite. It is casual. It is humorous.

It is deadly.

He mostly speaks directly to Rick. About how you belong to him now. How he wants you to work for him.

He makes it sound like that isn't all that _unreasonable_ , seeing as you killed fifty of his men.

Oh, and he is making it painfully clear that _someone_ is going to die by his hands tonight. Or well, by his bat, apparently. The way he stalks about the line-up like you're his prey makes you shudder.

At one point he jokes about putting Maggie out of her misery and Glenn loses his shit and jumps out of line to protect her.

Dwight punches him until he stays still and aims your brother's crossbow at him.

"No, no, no, no, no. Don't." You breathe louder than you intended.

Dwight gives you a side-eye.

Whether it means, "Jill, shut the hell up, you'll give us away" or "You're more annoying than hyperactive kindergartners," you have no idea.

Negan casually states, "Nope. Nope, get him back in line."

Glenn is dragged back, begging for him not to do anything to Maggie.

"Don't any of you do that again. I will shut that shit down, _no exceptions._ First one's free, it's an emotional moment. I get it," he states almost _happily_ , throwing a charismatic grin at Glenn for good measure.

He dicks around some more, regarding each of you closely.

The air feels thick with tension, with anticipation of something horrid. It's like you can almost smell the danger in the cold winter air.

And then he starts the game. The eeny meeny miney mo. Each second of which feels like a nightmare you're doing everything in your power to wake up from.

Tears prickle your eyes as fear grows like a sharp monster inside your stomach. You look at Daryl again, who sits all the way at the other end of the line. He nods at you, as if to say it's alright. Whatever happens.

But he's scared too.

Then you look at Dwight, who seems a lot paler now than before. His eyes flicker to you very briefly before closing his eyes, his face taking on a pained expression.

He can't have Negan see him looking at you.

Dwight obviously thinks that will make him pick you.

As Negan's bat hovers over you, your breathing grows shaky and your clothes cling to your body with sweat, and the wintery temperatures do nothing to cool you.

As his rhyme is coming to an end, your torso feels damp while your fingers and toes are numb. They feel like you're dying already.

"And you…are…" Negan says, breaking free from the line, throwing a smug grin at Rick.

He stalks around the line some more, before deliberately picking someone.

"It."

Abraham.

A sob escapes you, as it does most of your group.

Let this please just be a terrible dream you will wake up from soon.

"Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy's other eye out and feed it to his father, and _then_ we'll start. You can breathe. You can blink."

You dare glance at Abraham, only to see him face Negan down ever so bravely. Never breaking eye contact.

Never cowering.

"You can cry. Hell… You're all going to be doin' that."

Bang.

You don't think the sound of that bat coming down on someone's skull is ever going to leave you.

Abraham sits back up after the hit.

"Oooh, look at that! Taking it like a _champ_!" To which Abraham looks him square in the eyes again and hisses, "Suck… my… nuts."

He hits him again. And again. And again. Until he finally stops.

You brave a look and you start bawling.

There is nothing left of him.

You look at the tears staining your jeans, the cold air making your throat sore from the sobs. You block Negan out, who is making fun of Abraham.

He went like a soldier. No one will ever take that away from him.

You vaguely hear him say, "Sweetheart. Lay your eyes on _this_."

He holds the bloodied bat in front of Rosita.

How dare he… the poor girl lost Abraham.

He keeps pestering her to look at the _thing_ that cracked Abraham's skull, until she starts hyperventilating.

It's not until he starts forcing her, that Daryl stands up and punches him.

It feels like a cold, iron fist squeezes your heart. Your feet carry you to him faster than your brain can register.

You were not the only one to rush there. Multiple Saviors scurried over, one pressing you to the ground, the other two Daryl. You stare down his crossbow at Dwight.

Rick weakly speaks, "Daryl! Jill!"

"No!" Negan firmly yells, pointing the bat at him. "Oh, no."

"The whole thing, not one bit of that shit flies here," he howls.

Dwight adds, "You want me to do it? Right here." You glare at him, baring your teeth. He can explain later how this serves to 'protect' your brother.

Negan grabs a handful of Daryl's hair and tugs at it hard, to get a good look at his face.

"No. No, you don't kill them. Not until you _try_ a little," he says, giving Dwight a bright, shit-eating grin.

"Oh honey… you should not have done that," he exclaims, grabbing your chin firmly to turn your face to him.

"Wait a fuckin' minute," he says, tugging at Daryl's hair violently. He looks between the two of you a few times, before throwing his head back and heartily laughing.

"Look at these lil' redneck _siblings_!"

Oh god, what is he going to do to you?

Then you are being dragged back in line, scraping open your knuckles on the gravel.

"Anyway," Negan continues, before he pauses. He crouches back down to the ground and picks up the white plastic.

Your eyes grow wide as you realize what it is.

No, no, no, no, _no_.

He regards it with squinted eyes and furrowed brows for a bit.

"Sweetheart, I believe you dropped a lil' somethin'." He smirks, walking back over to you. "Fucking sucks to be you, girl," he says, stage-whispering. He raises his eyebrows as he says, "Is the father still alive? Or did I…" He acts out a hit with the bat, making a clicking sound with his tongue, a wide grin plastered on his face.

It takes everything in your shaky demeanor to set your eyes on him, but you feel like it's the least you could do, as Abraham had been so very brave.

"No," you say, your voice hoarse.

"Good." He says, before standing up, shaking his head and moving back again.

" _Anyway_ …" He continues as though nothing happened.

He goes on about how, basically, we _shouldn't have done that_.

You feel like you could throw up your own guts, because you have no idea what he will do now. Will he do something to Daryl? To you? To someone else?

He doesn't know about you and Dwight, does he?

"…I want you to know me," he affirms darkly.

"So. Back to it," he says sprightly before turning around swiftly and hitting Glenn on the head hard. Once. Twice.

When Glenn comes back up, you feel like your heart might stop then and there.

His skull is deeply dented and his eye fell out of its socket. He gurgles and splutters as he tries to squeeze some last words out.

The look on Maggie's face is… haunting.

"Buddy, you still there? I just don't know, it seems like you're trying to speak but you just took a hell of a hit! I just popped your skull so hard, your eyeball just popped out! And it is gross as shit!"

Glenn looks directly at Maggie. "M-Maggie, I'll find you," he forces the words.

"Ah, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys. I am sorry. I truly am. But I did say it," he grins. This motherfucker is enjoying this. " _No_ exceptions."

After that, there is just prolonged beating. It goes on and on. Maggie's heartbroken, soul-shattering sobs sound through the night sky. You press your hands on your ears, squeezing your eyes shut.

Eugene next to you is doing sort of the same.

You hear Negan's muffled talking, but you block it out.

After the beating sounds have stopped and silence falls over you, there is nothing for a moment. Until your hands are yanked roughly from your ears.

You see Negan through your tears.

"The Asian guy wasn't him, right? Or there's gonna be some fucking _tension_ in the group," he says, looking at Maggie.

"No," you say shakily. "But _she_ is pregnant too, you motherfucker," you sob loudly. He tilts his head, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips theatrically. "Oh, hell. Couldn't have known that. _She_ wasn't littering the place with her two pink lines."

Then he takes Rick with him. Drags, more like.

When they come back, the sun has risen and it is officially morning.

You were left there to ponder your actions for an undetermined amount of time. Again, it seemed like forever.

Was it your and Daryl's fault that Glenn died? Guilt sits in your throat like a flesh-eating disease, tearing you up inside.

An occasional glance to Daryl tells you he feels the same.

It must feel even worse to him, since he was the one to deal the punch.

This must be what hell feels like.

When you risk a glance at Dwight, he finally looks back at you. There is so much sympathy in his eyes that you throat tightens with emotion.

It's just that you could really, _really_ use a hug right now.

From him, specifically.

When Negan finally comes back with Rick, you are immediately put through a whole fucking rollercoaster _again_.

He forces guns to the backs of your heads, forcing Rick to cut off Carl's arm on a certain line. The fact that Dwight stands behind you, a gun of his own trained on the back of your head, has you nearly sighing with relief. Though you don't quite know why.

You've spent barely two days with this guy. But when you look at him, when you listen to him, you get a feeling deep inside that you can trust him.

You don't know here it comes from. You might be completely wrong, but somehow, you doubt that.

You didn't have the tendency to do this. In the past, when you met a guy, you were quicker to distrust him than the opposite.

Maybe your dad was to blame for that. Maybe you just had trust issues.

But it must say _something_ that you trust Dwight as much not to blow your brains out through your nose right here and right now.

Rick is so shaken that, for a little moment, he looks like he might just lose his mind with terror and hopelessness.

The boy's words, "Dad, just do it- _just do it_ ," reinforces how brave he actually is. He takes after his father in that regard. Though even the bravest of men can be broken. Rick Grimes _can_ be broken, which is what this little show is clearly all about.

Negan must think broken people are less dangerous. More inclined to listen.

He clearly hasn't met you and Daryl as kids.

When Negan finally stops Rick, axe held mid-air, he finally has what he wants.

Rick's obedience.

It wouldn't have made sense for him to blow all your brains out. Why waste a strong workforce? He made it clear from the get-go that that is all he wants from you.

The guns are taken off the backs of your heads, an audible breath of relief escaping most around you.

"We did it. All of us. _Together._ Hell, even the dead guys on the ground! They get the spirit award, for sure!" Maggie starts sobbing with grief again.

"Now I hope, for your sake, that you get it now. That you _understand_ how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you, that is over now."

He pauses a moment, regarding you.

Then he calls, "Dwight! Load _them_ up."

To your horror, he points Lucille at you and your brother. Your eyes as big as saucers, you shake your head fervently, as you are smoothly hoisted up from the ground by your armpits by the 'Simon' moustache-guy.

Negan giggles as you thrash about, hissing, "Let me fucking go!"

" _Damn_ , look at those eyes! Almost as big as the eyeball of that Asian kid," Negan laughs loudly at his own joke.

You sneer at him before you are pushed into the van.

Once you are in the van, Dwight trains the crossbow on you again. He mouths, "It will be okay," his expression gentle. Then he slams the van doors shut, and you and your brother hug like there will be no tomorrow.


End file.
